


Secret Writings

by angelsfalling16



Series: 20 First Kisses [6]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, But when does he not think Baz is plotting something?, Fluff, M/M, Simon thinks Baz is plotting something, SnowBaz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 08:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15359865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsfalling16/pseuds/angelsfalling16
Summary: Baz is writing constantly, and Simon thinks he’s plotting something.





	Secret Writings

**Simon**

“Pen. Pen. Penny. Penny. Penelope!” I nearly shout at her. She’s sitting across from me, reading a book and pretending like she can’t hear me.

“Yes, Simon?” she asks, finally raising her eyes to look at me.

“Look at him,” I say, absentmindedly tearing at the scone on the plate in front of me.

“Who?” she asks, closing her book with a sigh.

“ _Baz_ ,” I whisper, pushing the remains of my scone aside. Penny turns slightly in her seat to look at the table where Baz and his friends are sitting.

I look, too. Baz is scribbling rabidly in a notebook, ignoring whatever Dev is saying beside him. A stray strand of dark hair falls into his face, and he shoves it away with the hand that isn’t holding the pen. (Knowing Baz, it’s probably a very expensive brand of pen.)

“What about him? Penny asks. I tear my eyes away from Baz and turn them on Penny’s exasperated face.

“He hasn’t stopped writing since he sat down.” Penny’s eyebrows raise slightly, but she doesn’t say anything. “I think he’s plotting something.”

Penny sighs, again, and rolls her eyes. “What makes you think he’s plotting something? He could be doing homework.”

I glance at Baz again, and he still has his head down. It looks like he has given up on his hair because more of it has fallen into his face out of its usually slicked-back state. It looks nice, and I wish for a moment that I was close enough to run my fingers through it. Shaking that thought out of my head, I turn back towards Penny. She’s watching me with her tea poised in front of her mouth.

“He doesn’t have any textbooks with him,” I point out. “He’s probably plotting my demise while we just sit here and watch. I’m going to find out what he’s up to.”

“Fine, but I’m not helping you this time.” I barely hear her because Baz has just closed his notebook and is standing up.

I watch as he rakes his pale hand through the contrasting strands of dark hair, trying to get it back under control. He says something to Dev and Niall before walking out of the dining hall.

I feel a sharp pain in my knee and turn and look sharply at Penny. “What did you kick me for?” I ask.

“No reason,” she says innocently. “But you should probably hurry and finish eating before you end up late to class.”

I just barely keep from rolling my eyes at her. I’m more worried about whatever Baz is plotting than I am about missing class.

***

I sit behind Baz in most of our classes together, so I have a pretty good view of whatever it is that he’s doing. He somehow manages to both take notes and write in that other notebook. I’m too far away to see what it is that he’s writing, though. I’m not sure how he manages to do both when I can barely manage to make it  _appear_  like I’m taking notes while also keeping an eye on him.

He’s so absorbed in his notebook all day that he doesn’t sneer – or even look – at me once. It feels strange to not be the recipient of one of his snide comments. Whatever he’s plotting must be really bad if it takes up this much of his concentration because he never misses an opportunity to taunt me. I need to find out what he’s up to quickly.

After dinner, I beat Baz back to our room. I don’t have to wait long for him to arrive, though. I’m seated at my desk with a textbook open in front of me when he walks in. I don’t look up, and he doesn’t say anything. This isn’t unusual for us since we usually try to stay out of each other’s way as much as possible.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as he kicks off his shoes and hangs his blazer and tie neatly in his wardrobe. He stretches his arms above his head, and I turn my gaze back to the book in front of me before he turns around and catches me watching him.

After a few minutes of staring at the words on the page but not really taking any of it in, I look back over at Baz. He’s lounging on his bed with one leg stretched out in front of him and the other bent with the notebook propped on it. His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration as he adds more elegant script to the page.

I watch as his hand moves back and forth across the page. He stops every once in a while and just stares at the page in front of him, like he’s trying to figure out what the next step of his plan will be. Whatever his plan is, at least it will look beautiful on paper. His handwriting always looks so nice, and I envy him as I turn back to my own notebook of barely legible notes.

This goes on for almost an hour. I pretend to be studying while watching Baz out of the corner of my eye as he fills several pages with his secret plan. Finally, I hear a rustle of pages as he closes the notebook and listen as he walks to the bathroom. As soon as I hear the door close, I turn in my seat to look at his side of the room.

The notebook isn’t on the bed where I expect it to be, nor on his desk. I frantically search with my eyes for the notebook but don’t see it. All of Baz’ things are always neatly put away, so the notebook would be easy to spot if it was there. For a moment, I consider getting up to search under his bed or in his desk drawer, but he could return from the bathroom at any moment.

I turn back to face my desk just in time. I force myself not to look at him again until I know for sure that he’s back on his bed. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, but he doesn’t have his notebook out this time. Now, he’s sitting with both legs bent and is reading a book. I can’t see the cover from where I’m sitting.

I tear my eyes away from him once more. I try to actually read the words in front of me, but I can’t focus. I need to find out what he’s plotting. Frustrated, I close the textbook with a little too much force and stand up, nearly knocking over my chair.

I grab some clothes from my wardrobe and go into the bathroom, just barely managing not to slam the door. Maybe a hot shower will help me focus.

 

**Baz**

It isn’t hard to notice that Snow is watching me as we sit quietly in our room. He isn’t doing a very good job of pretending to study. We’ve been sitting here for an hour, and he hasn’t turned the page of his book once. I’m not even sure he’s picked up his pencil yet either.

It was getting increasingly more difficult to focus on what I was writing with Snow’s intense gaze trained on me, so I gave up after a while. This seemed to upset him. As soon as he saw the book in my hand, I could feel waves of frustrated and uncontained magic rolling off him.

When he abruptly stands up, I think that he’s going to go off. Instead, he just stomps into the bathroom and turns on the shower. I smile to myself with the knowledge that I can get under Snow’s skin so easily without even trying. (I ignore the fact that he got under my skin first by just watching me. That’s beside the point.)

I close my book and make sure that my notebook is safely tucked away in my bag before changing into pajamas and crawling into bed. I’ve had enough of Snow’s lingering gaze for one day. Now, I need to rest so that I can fight off whatever he attempts to do tomorrow. It won’t be long before he tries to get ahold of my notebook.

(Maybe I’ll just burn it before he can see what’s inside.)

 

**Simon**

Baz was asleep when I got out of the shower last night, and he’s already gone when I wake up. I dress quickly and go down to the dining hall to meet Penny for breakfast. Agatha doesn’t sit with us anymore. (Not since she broke up with me.)

I don’t blame her, though. I wasn’t the best boyfriend, and she wanted more than I could give her. I was upset at first. Of course, I was. We had been together for a long time, but I think I’m over it now.

“Morning,” Penny says as I sit down across from her. I nod in response.

I search the room for Baz, but Dev and Niall are sitting alone today. “I think he’s avoiding me,” I murmur to myself. Penny shakes her head.

“If you want to talk to him then do it.” I stare at her with wide eyes.

“What? Why would I want to talk to him?”

Penny sighs and sips her tea before answering. “I’m just saying, ask him what he’s writing in that notebook. It would definitely save us all a lot of time.” She mumbles the last bit into her tea.

“But why would Baz tell me what he’s plotting? It would ruin his plan.”

“Do you honestly believe that that notebook is full of an evil plan to take you down, Simon?”

“What else would he be writing?”

“I don’t know, but he has been writing a lot. That is too much for a plan. No one thinks that hard about something. Not even Baz.”

“Aha! So, you’ve noticed all the writing, too!” I exclaim, feeling triumphant.

“Only because you pointed it out. And you completely missed my point.”

“It could be a really elaborate plan, Penny.” She doesn’t respond, and we finish eating our breakfast in silence.

Baz never shows up.

 

**Baz**

I don’t go to breakfast so that I can avoid Snow. I do not need to start off my day with his blue eyes watching my every movement. I go down to the catacombs to catch rats instead because I didn’t feed last night since I went to bed so early.

In the classes Snow and I don’t have together, I can breathe just fine. I take excellent notes while also writing in the other notebook. The one where the cover is the exact same shade of blue as Snow’s eyes. It isn’t a very exciting shade of blue. There’s nothing special about it. Except there is because the fact that the color belongs to the person that I’ve fallen head over heels for is what made my heart race when I saw the notebook.

There was only one with this color at the store, and I knew instantly that I had to buy it. The contents of the notebook are almost as meaningful as the color. No one know what I’m writing, not even my two closest friends. (And hopefully, no one ever will.)

It probably wouldn’t attract so much attention if I could stop carrying it everywhere and writing in it every chance I get, but I can’t seem to stop. (I don’t really want to either.)

The other classes, the ones I do share with Snow, are a bit more difficult. I can feel him watching me, which makes it hard to focus on what the teachers are saying. During our second class together, I completely give up on trying to take notes and throw all of my concentration into what I’m writing in the blue notebook. This allows me to get a lot of writing done, but it also means that I don’t hear anything the teachers are saying. Luckily (or maybe un luckily) Snow is the only one who seems to be interested in the fact that I’m not taking notes.

Not even Bunce, Snow’s best friend, seems particularly invested. In fact, I’m pretty sure I heard her tell Snow to knock it off earlier.

***

The next several days pass by in a similar fashion. Snow glares at the notebook that I continue to carry everywhere, and I spend most classes struggling to take notes and trying to ignore Snow’s heated gaze. With every passing day, I find it increasingly difficult to focus on anything except the notebook and Snow’s eyes on me.

During lunch on Thursday, I head down to the catacombs with my notebook, and I’m able to relax without Snow’s piercing gaze distracting me and keeping me from being able to focus on anything. I am able to write a decent portion of the story I’ve been working on before I have to head back to class.

_Bright blue eyes caught my gaze several times throughout the day. His eyes, the same shade as the sky on a clear day pierce into me. It felt like he could see my every thought and desire when he looked at me like that. It made me feel like I was the only person in the world, like it was just me and him in that moment._

_Every time he looked at me, I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes off of him. He waved at me as he walked past my table during lunch, and I was so surprised that I didn’t have time to react before it was too late._

_“Just talk to him,” my friend said to me. I told him at the beginning of the year about my feelings for my roommate and ever since, he has tried to get me to tell him._

_“I can’t,” I said. “He doesn’t feel the same.”_

_“You won’t know unless you talk to him.”_

_“I do know actually. He has a girlfriend, remember?”_

_“Oh, but didn’t you hear?” he whispered conspiratorially. “They broke up last week.”_

_“What?” I whispered loudly. My friend looked at me with an amused grin before asking if I wanted to know why they broke up. I hesitated, unsure of whether it’s really any of my business. Before I could make up my mind, the bell rang signaling the end of lunch._

_“Just talk to him,” my friend said before standing up and walking away._

***

The afternoon classes are difficult to say the least. I’m unprepared for most of them because I’ve barely taken any notes all week, and I spend most evenings in our room writing or down in the catacombs trying to catch a break from Snow. He’s constantly watching me but never says anything. Not even when I sneer at him with a snide remark.

It’s too dark down in the catacombs to study, so I am completely unprepared when two of our teachers call on me to answer a question that they have asked, and I have to admit that I don’t know the answer. I can see the shock and disappointment in their eyes when they see that one of the best students at this school has lost focus. I know that my mother would be even more disappointed if she were here. Education was always important to her.

On Friday, I decide to leave the notebook in our room so that I can refocus on my classes. (And hopefully get Snow to stop watching me for a while.)

I have no such luck with Snow, though. In fact, this seems to make him even more suspicious of me. Waves of magic roll off him all day as he glares at the back my head. I do my best to ignore him, but it’s hard not to turn around and sneer at him to stop staring.

After classes, I consider skipping dinner, but I haven’t eaten since yesterday at breakfast, so I know I should at least get something that I can take back to the room or down to the catacombs. As soon as I step through the doors, I can feel Snow’s eyes on me. (It feels like the heat of a summer sun.) I turn and sneer at him before making my way over to where Dev and Niall sit.

I can still feel Snow’s gaze as he tracks my movement across the dining hall. Apparently, the sneers I’ve thrown his way all week have done nothing to dissuade him. I sigh, wondering what it will take to get Snow to stop watching me like that.

When I finally look at Dev and Niall, they’re both giving me strange looks. “What?” I snap at them.

“Is the aspiring writer done…writing?” Niall asks with a smirk.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, covering my surprise with a sneer. There is no way that he knows that the notebook is filled with a story I’ve been working on.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you without that notebook in days. Are you finally done with whatever you were working on?”

I still haven’t told either of them about it. They wouldn’t understand. They would also probably stop wanting to associate with me if they knew the truth.

I shake my head at them. “Just taking a small break.”

“Well, your roomie doesn’t seem to be very happy about that,” Dev chimes in smirking and nodding in Snow’s direction when I give him a questioning look.

My eyes find Snow’s easily. Dev is right. The curious gleam of the past few days is gone from his eyes and has been replaced by anger. If looks could kill, I’d be dead where I sit. He’s staring daggers at me. (Brilliantly blue daggers but daggers all the same.)

I can feel his magic all the way over here. It feels hot, like he’s about to go off. I know that I could easily tip him over the edge, but I don’t. Instead, I say goodbye to Dev and Niall before heading back towards Mummers House. I expect Snow to follow, but I don’t feel his magic anymore as I exit the dining hall and head back to our room.

A large part of me is disappointed by this, and I feel a pang in my chest. I push the feeling away and throw myself down on my bed, notebook and pen in hand. So many words are floating around in my head, and I just need to get them down on paper.

_The boy with the intense gaze looked up at me, and I froze. I knew I was staring, but I couldn’t stop. The heat from his gaze warmed me up. His eyes were so bright they could light up any room. The corners of his eyes crinkle as one side of his mouth lifts slightly. I wanted to walk over to him and run my hands through his soft bronze curls. The girl beside him said something, and he looked away. I shivered, suddenly feeling cold all over._

 

**Simon**

I try to stand and follow Baz out of the dining hall, but Penny puts a hand on my arm to stop me. I try to pull away, but she tightens her grip.

“Simon what are you doing?” I glance at the doors.

“Following Baz.”

She stares at me for a moment, apparently not expecting me to say it so bluntly “You need to cool off or you’re going to go off,” she says calmly. “Don’t you think it’s time to give this a rest? It’s been days.” I sigh and sit back down in my seat. She releases her hold on my arm.

I rake a hand through my hair and say, “I just want to talk to him.”

“You can talk to him later. You haven’t eaten anything yet.”

“Neither has he,” I murmur, glancing at the door once more. Penny frowns at me but doesn’t say anything.

Once Penny decides that I’ve eaten enough, she lets me leave with a warning to “play nice.”

I walk as quickly as I can to the room without actually running to get there. I have to find out what his plan is before he decides to actually put it into action. I have to find the notebook and figure out a way to stop him.

Baz is stretched out on his bed again, reading a book. The notebook is sitting on the bed beside him. It could be any notebook, but I have a feeling that it’s  _the_  notebook, the one he’s been writing in nonstop.

His long legs are stretched out in front of him, and I can’t help but notice how his dark, tight pants cling to his legs. He has one arm bent under his head while the other holds the book up above his face. This position causes his black shirt to ride up and reveal a small strip of skin. It looks like it would be smooth to the touch, and I wonder what it would feel like if I rubbed his stomach there. I lick my suddenly dry lips and force myself to look away.

I realize that I’m still standing by the door, so I sit down at my desk. I don’t even bother getting any books out and let my head fall into my hands, with my elbows resting on the desk. The notebook is right there, but I can’t just grab it. I have to figure out a way to get ahold of it. I suppose I could just ask to see it, like Penny said the other day. But that would be weird. And he would be more likely to punch me than actually hand it over. I have to figure something out, though.

 

**Baz**

Snow walks into our room and just stands there staring at me. I resist the urge to sneer at him, and instead continue looking at the book, unable to focus on the words now that he’s here.

I left the notebook in plain view, so I could see what he would do. I can’t help but want to try to get a reaction out of him. It’s just so easy, and it’s the only kind of thing I can get from him. He doesn’t react at all, though. There isn’t even a wave of magic to clue me into what he’s feeling. He simply sits at his desk without a word. Is he really giving up already? Impossible. He’s the bloody Chosen One. He never gives up on trying to get what he wants. There is no way he’s suddenly not interested anymore.

“Snow,” I say quietly. I wait until he has turned around to look at me before saying anything else. The unexpected intensity of his gaze renders me speechless. I struggle to keep up my composure. I take a deep breath, and with forced nonchalance, I say, “you can read it if you want.”

I don’t completely know why I do it. Maybe I’m a masochist. Maybe I think he’ll leave me alone if I just let him see it. (Like when I finally let him catch up to me in the catacombs 5thyear.) Maybe I want to see his reaction. Maybe I think he won’t actually read it. (Maybe I want him to read it.)

“What?” he asks.

I pick up the notebook and toss it onto his bed. I don’t say anything else. I turn back to my book and watch him out of the corner of my eye to see what he’ll do. He hesitates for a long moment as he stares at it like it might bite him when he touches it. Finally, he stands up and moves to sit on the edge of his bed, facing me. He still doesn’t pick it up.

“Why?” he asks.

I shrug but don’t look up. “It just seemed like you wanted to see what was in it.”

“I did. I mean, I do. But why are you just handing it over?”

I stare silently at my book for a moment. I hadn’t expected him to ask questions. I thought he would just read it and then make fun of me for it. (Or whatever he’ll do when he realizes what it is.) I fight the urge to shrug again. That’s something Snow does a lot, and it drives me crazy.

I sigh and speak the truth. “I’m tired of fighting. If you don’t want to read it, fine. I’ll take it back.”

When he doesn’t say anything, I look up. He looks surprised. And confused. He chews on his lip while he thinks through what I just said.

He nods once before picking it up. “Are you sure you want me to read this?” he asks softly.

“Yes, Snow,” I say, just as gently. “I wouldn’t have given it to you if I didn’t want you to read it.” It’s true, I realize. I can’t be sure of his reaction, but I trust him, even if we’ve never gotten the chance to learn how to trust each other. I know he won’t do anything too horrible in response. He isn’t that kind of guy.

“Okay,” he almost whispers. He opens the notebook, and I turn back to my book again, not wanting to see his reaction.

 

**Simon**

I flip quickly through the pages of the notebook, afraid that he’s going to change his mind and take it back. It’s almost completely filled with Baz’s elegant handwriting. He has spent a lot of time on this – whatever  _this_  is. It definitely isn’t a plot to kill me. But that’s pretty much all I know. I’m not sure what it is exactly, but it definitely does not seem evil in anyway. I open it to a random page and start reading:

_The boy with bronze curls and round blue eyes smiled at me like I was his world, like he only had eyes for me. It made my heart stop for a moment. I fought to normalize my breathing. I couldn’t believe he was looking at me like that. He always smiles like that, but it has never been directed at me before. I give him a small smile before he turns and walks away._

I’m not sure what I’m reading exactly. I skip forward to another page that’s closer to the end and start reading again.

_We were sitting on the floor laughing, and he looked up at me with those dazzling blue eyes. Without thinking about it, I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him to me. His eyes widened with surprised as lips parted slightly. He didn’t try to pull away, though, so I lean forward and press my lips to his. It’s soft and gentle at first, but then_

I close the notebook without reading any further. I feel like I just read something very personal, something I probably should have just left alone. Did I just read Baz’s diary? If so, who is the boy that he kissed. Is Baz gay? I want to find out the answers to all of these questions, but I don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable. He  _did_  just hand it over though.

“Baz…” I say quietly. He’s staring at the book in his hands, not looking at me.

“What, Snow?” he asks, with not quite a sneer. He sounds almost…tired, like he’s carrying a heavy burden on his shoulders and wants to be done with it.

“What is this?” I ask gesturing at the notebook. I know it’s a stupid question, but it’s all I can manage to get out.

“What do you think it is?” he says with a slight tinge of anger in his voice. He still isn’t looking at me though, so I can’t see his expression.

“Uhh… I’m not sure,” I say, voice low. “I thought you were plotting something. But I know that’s not true now.” My voice grows quieter with every word, and I stare down at the notebook so that I don’t have to see the look on his face.

“ _Seriously_ , Snow?  _That’s_  why you wanted to see what I was writing?” I don’t respond. I just keep staring at the notebook. We’re both silent for a moment before he gently says, “I wasn’t plotting your death in that notebook.”

“I know that  _now_ ,” I murmur. “I’m still not exactly sure what exactly it is, though.”

Baz sighs deeply, and says, “It’s just a story.”

“What?” I finally look up at him, surprised. He’s staring hard at the wall, his book completely abandoned now. “A story?” I repeat because I never would have guessed that Baz Pitch was a writer.

“Yes, Snow. You do know what a story is, don’t you?” He turns and scowls at me.

“Yeah, but – I mean –.” I take a breath and try to find the words I want to say. “I didn’t know you wrote stories.”

“No one does,” he says gravely.

“Why not?”

He sneers at me. “Why would anyone want to read that?”

I shrug. “It seems interesting.” He just stares at me, sneer still in place. “I didn’t read much, but I liked what I did read.” I shrug again, incapable of explaining what I mean very well.

“What part did you read?” he asks softly, sneer slipping.

“Just a couple of sentences here and there.” I pause for a moment. “Why don’t the characters have names?” I ask.

His eyes meet mine, and there’s an unreadable expression there before he quickly slides back into another sneer. “They have names,” he says simply, not elaborating.

“What are they?”

“Why do you care?”

I sigh and rake a hand through my hair. Why is he being so difficult now? “I was just curious. You’ve written this really long story about them, but you don’t seem to ever mention their names.”

“How would you know?” he asks harshly. “You said yourself that you didn’t read very much of it.”

I glare at him. “Whatever, Baz.” I toss the notebook to him and storm out of the room. I don’t understand why he has to be like that. Why can’t he just talk to me like a normal person? And why am I so upset by all of this?

 

**Baz**

I just stare at the door dumbfounded after he storms off. I don’t understand why he got so mad. I have said much worse things, and what I said was true. He didn’t read much of it. If he had read the last page of what I’ve written in the notebook, he would have seen his name there. I finished the story last night, and there was even a nice little epilogue where the last words are his name.

It feels like I sit there for a long time after he leaves before I run after him, but it’s only a few minutes, and I manage to catch up to him just outside of Mummers House. He has his back to me, but he isn’t moving.

“Snow,” I say quietly, not wanting to scare him off. He doesn’t turn around. I watch him for a moment, and his shoulders seem to be shaking. Is he…crying? I take a step closer, reaching a hand out to gently grasp his shoulder. “Simon?” I whisper.

He freezes for half a second before his shoulders start to shake harder. He isn’t making any noise, and I’m starting to get worried. I spin him around to face me. There are no tears on his face though. He’s laughing, and I’m speechless for once.

 

**Simon**

I’ll admit that I was furious with Baz when I left the room. But the walk down all of those stairs really helped clear my head. By the time I step outside into fresh air, I understand why I’m so upset. I’m not angry that he wouldn’t tell me the names of the characters. I’m jealous.

I’m jealous of whoever inspired him to write a love story. I’m jealous of whoever stole his heart. I don’t know why I’m so jealous, though. It’s not like I’m in love with him or anything. He’s my enemy. He always has been.

Or maybe, deep down, I’ve always loved him and have always found him attractive. Maybe I’ve always felt something more. But I’ve never been able to admit it, not even to myself, because we’ve been enemies practically since we met.

I take in a deep breath of the cool evening air and let it out with a laugh. I try to stop the laughter, but I can’t. This is all just so ridiculous. I’m jealous of someone I’ve never met, all because of a story Baz wrote. And on top of that, I’ve fallen in love with  _Baz_  of all people, the one person I was destined to hate.

And now that I’ve finally come to terms with my feelings, it’s because he’s in love with someone else. Someone he cares so much about that they were the inspiration for a story he wrote.

I continue laughing because this is all just so absurd. I hear someone exit the building behind me, but I don’t turn, not even when the person, Baz, says my name. I can’t stop laughing, and he’ll probably think I’m insane. He places a firm hand on shoulder and says my name again. I freeze because he says ‘Simon’ this time, but then, I laugh harder because he sounds concerned, and it feels like my world has been turned upside down. Because Baz is worried about me, and I’m in love with him.

He spins me around to face him, and I keep laughing because I can’t seem to stop. He frowns and looks at me like I’ve completely lost it, and maybe I have. Maybe I’ve finally gone crazy.

“Are you okay?” he asks me. I nod, still laughing. “What’s so funny?”

My stomach hurts from laughing, and I can’t stop myself from blurting out, “I’m in love with you, but you’re in love with someone else.” Saying these things out loud should probably frighten me, but they cause me to laugh even harder (if that’s even possible) because hearing the words spoken out loud makes it sound that much more absurd.

“What are you talking about Snow?” he asks, sounding exasperated.

“The notebook,” I choke out between laughs. “Whoever you were writing about. Jealous of them.” I laugh so hard tears start falling. Or maybe I’m crying now. I can’t be sure.

“Snow—” he begins but I interrupt him.

“Simon.”

“What?” he asks, sounding incredulous.

“You called me Simon before.”

“No, I didn’t.” I just shake my head, trying to breathe. “Whatever. That story was about  _you_ ….Simon,” he adds, dropping his gaze to the ground for a moment before staring directly into my eyes.

Finally, I stop laughing, shocked into silence. “It….what?” I stare at him, the wind drying the tears on my face.

“If you had actually read the story, you would know it was about you. I wrote your name. At the end.” I just stare at him for a moment.

He must be lying. He can’t be in love with me. But, then again, just a few minutes ago, I would have said I wasn’t in love with him. I look for any trace of mocking in his dark grey eyes, but there’s none. He’s being completely serious. I try to come up with something to say, but then I think that actions speak louder than words.

I close the distance between us and place my hands on his face. I watch as shock registers on his face before pulling his face to mine and kissing him softly. His hands find my waist and rest there. The kiss is gentle, and his lips are so soft. It doesn’t last long before Baz pulls away.

“Maybe we should go inside,” he suggests. I nod in agreement, and he takes my hand, leading me upstairs back to our room.

Once the door has closed behind us, I wonder how to pick back up from where we left off. I consider pushing him up against the wall and kissing him again. But I also think we should talk first. Luckily, Baz makes the decision for me.

Still holding my hand, he turns to me and says, “wait, you thought that story was about some other guy?” I look down at my feet in response, feeling my cheeks heat up. “Oh, Snow.” He places a finger under my chin and raises my face up to look at him. He’s smiling at me, something I’ve never seen him do. “You are just so oblivious, my darling Snow.”

I look at him confused. Oblivious? How am I oblivious?

“I described your hair and eyes in great detail in that story. Did you really not read any of that?”

Oh, I think. “I did. But… I never dreamed that you would like me.”

“I don’t like you,” he says simply. At his words, I try to pull away. He shakes his head, chuckling softly. “I’m in love with you, you dolt.”

“Oh,” I smile brightly at him. “I’m in love with you, too, Basil.”

His eyes widen for a fraction of second before his grin widens. I take this opportunity to spin us around and push him up against the door.

He runs his fingers through my hair. “You are utterly ridiculous, Simon Snow.” He looks down at me, with a smile that makes my heart stop. “You thought I was in love with someone else, so your response is to run off and… laugh?” He quirks an eyebrow, relaxing against the door. My hands are resting on his chest.

I shake my head, remembering how I must have looked out there. “It just seemed so absurd that it took me thinking you were in love with someone else to make me finally admit to myself how I feel about you. How I’ve always felt about you.”

He looks surprised at this and pulls me closer to him. He presses our foreheads together, and I can see the different shades of grey in his eyes. They are the color of storm clouds preparing to unleash a drizzling rain with specks of a lighter shade throughout.  “I thought you’d always hate me,” he whispers. I shake my head.

“I could never hate you.”

With that, our lips meet. The kiss is more desperate this time. Eight years of repressed feelings on both sides are trying to express themselves through this one action. This is how we spend the rest of the night until we fall asleep on Baz’ bed, clinging on to each other, both afraid that the other will be gone in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you @great-merlins-beard on Tumblr for beta reading this.


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